


Hold On

by onceandforall



Series: darkness exhales [2]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-03 23:28:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2892047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onceandforall/pseuds/onceandforall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He is slipping on things that he cannot see. He feels like he is in space, getting pulled in by a black hole that he cannot feel. </p><p>He is falling, and falling, and falling. When will he ever stop falling? </p><p>He hits the ground and wonders why he isn’t already dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold On

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta'd, as usual. please tell me if there are any typos or such!

Bianca is in his dreams again. She is always in his dreams now. If he is on the Overworld, he dreams of olive colored skin and freckles dotting across a nose. If he is in the underworld, he dreams of a green beret and a warm hand wrapping around his own.

“I’ll stay with you, don’t worry,” she whispers, and he is so disoriented that he doesn’t know if she is talking English or Italian or something in between.

“We’re the children of Hades,” she says, running her hands through his hair. She frowns, as if she disapproves of the length. She probably does; she never liked his hair long. “And as children of Hades, we must stick together.”

She smiles, sadly. He smiles back, and wonders how he is not already crying and wrapping his arms around his sister and drawing her in close.

He’s already let go of his grip on her once. He does not want it to happen again.

“Bianca,” he finally wills his lips to say. But she’s already gone, and he doesn’t know where she went.

His hand feels cold and empty, holding onto nothing but stale air.

-

Rebirth.

That’s the path that she has chosen.

He knows that it is a futile hope, but he wishes to run into her soul again. Even if they do not know each other, it would still be something. Right?

He does not know, and he does not want to know.

-

“You’re my sister too,” he says, holding his hand outstretched. He has gotten so pale, so cold for so long now that he can’t imagine his skin another color than the pallid hue it is now. His days of smiling in the sun are long gone.

The girl takes his hand, her golden eyes brimming with tears that she is trying to hold back.

She is his sister, and he will hold onto her as tightly as he can. She will not slip.

-

“You are forbidden to tell them,” his father booms, larger than life.

He feels small, but so powerful at the same time. He nods his head. His hair is long and black, hanging in front of his face.

“The time is not right.”

“When will it be right?” he ventures.

“Not now. We do not need another demigod war on our hands. Too much blood will already be spilled.”

He wonders if his father is talking about his blood spilling.

-

The first. He is the first of the Greek demigods to visit the roman camp since the civil war.

He’s not sure if this makes him seem more like an outcast, or something else entirely.

-

He did not believe at first, but there are two camps. There are more demigods that have not heard of each other. Their forces combined would be great, but the chance of them getting along is slim.

They are in charge: the girl with long dark hair, sad eyes and the boy with piercing blue eyes, short blond hair.

“You will take her in,” he says, raising his sister’s hand. They are still holding hands; he has not let go and does not plan on it until he knows that she will be safe.

She is trembling, and he is solid.

This is his sister, and he is not losing her again.

-

He is in his black toga when he learns that the boy with the icy stare, Jason, has gone missing.

The senate erupts in speculation, and he does not know what exactly is going on until it is too late.

-

His trips back to Camp are far and few between. He only goes per Chiron’s request, and to show everyone that he is not dead.

He does not stay long, and he never goes into his cabin.

As he’s leaving, exiting the Big House, he learns the news that Chiron hadn’t told him.

Percy’s missing.

His hero, the hero, oh, his heart is sinking into his stomach, and the shadows overcome him before he has a chance to think clearly.

-

Hazel knows of the power he wields, and how much of a threat he could be if he wanted. She is not scared of him.

This is what family feels like, he supposes.

-

No. No. No.

He knew this was coming, but no. He panics, but is given no time to actually start to break down.

“Percy Jackson,” Hazel introduces, smiling slightly. “He’s a good guy. Percy, this is my brother, the son of Pluto.”

He straightens himself outs. Breathes. In. Out. Sticks out his hand.

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Nico di Angelo.”

He is not pleased, but oh so pleased at the same time.

His grasp is shaky, but his voice is even.

-

She is not Bianca, he has to remind himself often. She will never be Bianca.

Her face betrays the words that she is saying. I’m sorry that I’ll never be her.

He wants to tell her that she is perfect the way she is, but he cannot find the words. His tongue is too twisted and the words are too lost.

-

He knows that he can find them in the Underworld. The Underworld is his domain, his second home. It is the place that he ran to when the people above did not approve of him.

He knows it like the back of his hand. He is confident that he will be able to find the doors. He just needs time.

-

He is slipping on things that he cannot see. He feels like he is in space, getting pulled in by a black hole that he cannot feel.

He is falling, and falling, and falling. When will he ever stop falling?

He hits the ground and wonders why he isn’t already dead.

-

The fire burns in his throat. He knows that it is the only way for him to survive, but the pain is almost too much for him to bear. His sword hangs on his side, black ice waiting to be used in the land of fire and rage.

He trudges forward, and doesn’t trust himself to look anywhere else but down at his feet.

He thought he was going through hell before, but the actual place is so much worse.

Here, there is nothing to hold onto but his sanity. And even that is slipping out of his grasp.

-

Impressive.

How can one hold so much pain within them?

There is little I can do; the misery inside of you is already at an unbearable level.

I am astounded, son of darkness.

-

He is going mad.

He cannot think straight, and there are voices in his head telling him that it would be so much easier for everyone if he just stuck his blade into himself. The voices are so much louder here than up in the Overworld.

It would be easier for him to watch the blood seep out of his body. It would be easier for him to count his last breaths.

It so easy for him, that he puts up no resistance against the giants that come barreling towards him.

-

He is not dead, and he is not alive.

There are marks on the walls of the jars.

The seeds he puts in his mouth taste like blood.

There are like him, death and life in the same bite.

His swallows are dry and pitiful.

His thoughts are nothing but pain.

-

The girl with feathers in her hair and multicolored eyes pulls him out towards safety, and towards the huge ship that’s looming in the distance. He feels like vomiting, but he passes out before he gets the chance.

-

He relays the information that he had acquired.

Is that all he’s good for? Information?

He starts to think that it would have been a good idea to listen to the voices in his head after all. They are, after all, still with him.

-

It is going horribly wrong.

His hero’s hand is slipping out his grasp, and he wants to hold on tighter and never let go.

No, he thinks, I cannot make you go through that.

His hero makes him promise that he will meet them on the other side.

He promises, knowing that he will keep this one.  
Promises. Promises. Promises. I will not break this promise.

-

He does not cry, because he knows that if anyone were to make it out of there alive, it would be the two who fell.

He does not cry because he knows that he will see him again.

He holds back his tears, because his hero might come back alive, but that does not mean he will not be changed.

-

He is too weak, and he feels useless. What good is he? He is not part of the seven, and it seems like he has only burdened them more.

He is too weak to even use his power, and they are they only thing that make him stand out, because what is he without his powers? He does not want an answer to that question.

-

The words sink into the pit of his stomach as he hears Jason’s breath catch.

He is panicking, and he is sure that Jason can see the wild look in his eyes. Why hasn’t he run away? Isn’t he supposed to be disgusted?

What he does not expect is this: “I’ve seen a lot of brave things. What you just did? That was maybe the bravest.”

He does not feel brave. He is a coward hiding in his own shadow.

-

He can feel the eyes staring him down as he passes by. He knows what they must be thinking, because he thinks the same thoughts.

“Nobody is going to judge you!”

He sneers back. That’s all they ever do. “I’m the son of Hades.”

“It’s better than hiding!”

Something snaps inside of him. He may get to talk like that about himself, but others? No.

Of course Jason wouldn’t know. Of course he won’t realize how much pain he is going through. Of course he wouldn’t know that self-hatred that runs deep inside of him. Of course he wouldn’t know where even to begin. He might be hiding, but that would just be because it is the only thing he knows how to do.

“I’m leaving,” he says, and before Jason has a chance to reply he is slipping into the shadows, becoming one with one of the only comforts he has.

-

He is not part of the seven, he thinks as he is tying rope around the huge statue. He can do this, prove his worth. He can do this, and then he can leave and never look back.

For the first time, the future seems almost promising.

-

He figures he has another sister now. He can see the look in her eyes when she thinks he is not looking. He can hear the soothing tones in her voice when she speaks. His family is growing, extending much further than he thought it would.

-

He breathes, and he is no longer in the mortal world. Figures whip by him, through him. He does not know what to do; he is losing control. He is losing his mind, and all of a sudden he is thrown back into the pits of hell, completely useless and loathed.

Energy surges his system, hot flashes of red, and he can see the sun again and his sister’s worried face as she looks down upon him.

“Pobrecito,” she whispers. It is not Italian, but the language of his sisters stays the same.

-

He is pushing himself to the limits, and further. At this point, he does not matter if he takes a jump too many. The only reason that he is staying whole is because of his duty to the camp. It might not have been his home, but it is and was the home to so many others. It is not his home, but he must save it. Like Atlas, he is weighed down with a responsibility that must be carried through.

-

He tears up the note, fear disguised as rage.

The Hunters have taken another one of his sisters.

He does not want to repeat that pattern.

-

He feels powerful, more so than he has ever felt. He did not feel this way fighting next to his father. He has not felt this way ever and it is so exhilarating. He can feel the blood rushing in his ears.

He hears a crack, and he sees the boy’s body falling down a crevice that has grown from the ground. He is taking his essence, his very being out from him.

He does not realize what he has done, until he has stopped. The horror sets in the same time the fatigue does.

He thinks he screams as he hits the ground, but that may have just been the sound of the wind rushing him. They all sound alike.

-

Stupid idiots, he thinks. They’re going to get themselves killed.

His blonde hair is still showing, and eyes are so bright that you could see them from a mile away. Those bright eyes are staring at him, perplexed, as if they can’t figure out if the boy in front of them is real or imaginary.

He pushes the thought away. He figures that they are trying to help, but all they’re doing is digging their grave.

At least this way it will be easier to bury the bodies.

-

His mind is a slew of one thought: No, no, no, no, no.

He can feel his stomach start to constrict and his heart rate increase. He will not let this happen again. He already knows the outcome to the story, and it is not a pleasant one.

He is begging himself to stop, but his heart is stubborn and once it has latched, it does not easily let go.

He knows, too, that death follows his heart.

-

The battle is over, and he is breathing heavy. He is terrified of facing the son of Apollo. He does not know if he can deal with another smile headed his way before breaking down completely, hiding in the crevices that he has made for himself.

What does he say? That he is sorry for killing another son of Apollo?

Maybe in one world he would come up with the words, but the world he is living in does not work like that.

-

“You’re not my type,” he lies, smiling. He high-fives the girl with the gray eyes, wanting to feel lighter. The release never comes.

He lies because he knows that if a lie is repeated enough times it becomes the truth.

-

The son of the sun is beaming. His hair catches the fading light as he tilts his head back and laughs.

No, no, no, he repeats in his head. Do not go down that path, you know what follows.

He can count on his hand how many people that he has loved, and over half of them have died.

The count must not rise. There is already too much blood on his young hands.

**Author's Note:**

> Pobrecito - Poor thing


End file.
